Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 70

Unlike the southwestern continent with its three prominent ducal families, the war-torn northern region had only one person holding the title of Duke - Lord Melberot.

He was the head of the Rocheste ducal family and the only living 6-Star Combat Mage renowned across the lands.

He was also the very individual who personally slew Noir, the Archfiend responsible for the Dawn War - the greatest catastrophe to ever befall the north.

Derek had heard countless retellings of that horrific day from Jayden, the mercenary leader who participated directly in the Dawn War.

Warriors of renown had gathered from across the lands to hunt the demon Noir, whose massive form was visible even from the distant horizon, yet they only succeeded in piling mountains of corpses higher, Jayden said. The vision of endless snowfields dyed red with warriors'blood remained his lifelong trauma.

Lord Calimford, a 6-Star mage and Lord Melberot's longtime friend, also perished in the Dawn War. The famous tale tells how Lord Melberot delivered the final blow to Noir's heart using Calimford's sacrifice as a stepping stone.

It was the stuff of legends, the very reason Lord Melberot still reigned as the Dominator of the North.

"Though I've heard the stories until they've grown calluses on my ears, it seems even such legendary figures struggle with childrearing."

"Indeed. Though we shouldn't judge hastily before meeting Lady Sieren in person."

"Of course. Just as Diela might have seemed like an impossible troublemaker from rumors alone, yet turned out to have her tender side, no?"

"..."

The carriage rattled onward.

The warm climate of the southwest already felt like ancient history. As their journey lengthened and they approached the north, the weather grew increasingly chilly.

Early autumn had already passed. Some northern regions were already experiencing bitter cold at this time.

Feeling the change keenly, Derek replaced his mercenary cloak with a thicker, fur-lined one.

Aiselin, wrapped in an ornate flower-embroidered cape, requested gloves from the servants as her fingertips grew numb.

Derek produced cold-weather gear he'd prepared in advance and handed it to Aiselin.

Accepting the gloves and thermal cloth, Aiselin stared blankly at him.

"Use them."

"Ah, yes. Thank you."

Though Derek had simply handed over the cold-weather items as a practical courtesy, Aiselin's mind began weaving elaborate fantasies.

Offering cold-weather gear in such freezing conditions - wasn't this gesture beyond mere kindness? Didn't it signify entrusting one's life, or recognizing her worth?

That he'd casually handed over these well-worn gloves - didn't that demonstrate a level of trust where he could freely share personal items?

That he didn't ask for them back - might that subtly imply this level of intimacy was natural between them?

Attaching excessive meaning to simple gestures was characteristic of noble girls experiencing romantic feelings for the first time.

And Aiselin was the type whose emotions showed plainly on her face.

Derek rested his chin on his hand, chewing his lower lip as he wondered if he needed to be more cautious.

'The Duplein lady's goodwill is beneficial, but crossing boundaries could backfire.'

By any measure, Derek was a scoundrel.

However much he genuinely respected Aiselin as a good and admirable person, he had no qualms about calculating how her affection might advantage him.

Using every available resource was bottom-dweller survival logic.

Humoring a naive noble girl's innocent crush as a life lesson wasn't particularly difficult.

Yet crossing lines could bring unexpected consequences.

'Pellin would throw a fit if she saw this.'

As he thought this, Derek glanced sideways at Aiselin from his chin-resting position.

Unaware her ears had turned red, Aiselin stared at the gloves Derek gave her as if engaged in some absurd staring contest, resembling a small prey animal facing its natural predator.

The sight was undeniably endearing, making Derek shake his head with a wry smile.

Derek was cold-blooded enough to measure even human emotions on a scale of profit and loss.

Yet he couldn't deny Aiselin was a good person, and the gap between her usual demeanor and these moments held considerable charm.

With a sigh, Derek turned his gaze to the increasingly white landscape outside the window.

"Head Butler Leighton of the Rocheste family. And this is Head Maid Serina."

"..."

When Derek stepped down from the lavish carriage with their luggage, he encountered the two senior staff managing Rocheste Manor. The meeting occurred at the checkpoint marking the entrance to the northern Rocheste territory.

Though still some distance from the manor itself, the two had apparently come ahead to greet their distinguished guests. No doubt on Lord Melberot's direct orders.

'What's this...?'

Derek felt uneasy.

Leighton, dressed in immaculate formalwear, was a gentleman with neatly trimmed beard hanging down. His fur-lined coat and upright posture in the snowfall presented an unusually refined image for a northerner.

Head Maid Serina was another matter entirely.

Though properly attired in a pristine maid uniform, bandages wrapped around one forearm, her ankles, and neck. One eye was also bandaged, with countless scratches marking every finger joint.

"My apologies for this unsightly appearance,"Serina bowed.

As Aiselin descended from the carriage and shook her head,"Not at all. Wounds don't heal on command. You seem seriously injured - are you alright?"

"Yes, thank you for your concern. We consider it a great honor that Lady Aiselin, Duplein's most noble lily, has graced us with her presence."

Rumors of House Duplein's decline must have reached even the north.

Though perhaps not grasping its full severity, they'd certainly know its authority and prestige were faltering compared to before.

Yet the Rocheste family's treatment remained impeccably courteous. Even a dying swan remains a swan - a ducal house was still a ducal house, however unsteady.

Studying Serina's condition, Derek's expression hardened.

The various wounds visible on her forearm, ankles and neck appeared inflicted at different times and in different ways.

'These aren't accidental injuries or from a single attack. They suggest sustained abuse or outright torture...'

As Head Maid, Serina would hold high status among Rocheste Manor's staff.

If even she had to work while displaying such injuries, Derek couldn't imagine the state of lower-ranking maids.

'This might be more difficult than anticipated.'

"Lady Sieren's handiwork?"

Derek never minced words in such matters. When he asked directly, both servants averted their eyes awkwardly.

Even Diela at her worst never laid hands on someone of Head Maid rank.

But this appeared closer to torture than mere violence.

'What were Lord Melberot and other senior retainers doing? Shouldn't someone this out of control be confined?'

Though a warlord, Lord Melberot must have possessed basic common sense.

There must be reasons for allowing such behavior when servants'lives were at stake.

"We'll explain in detail at Rocheste Manor."

With that, Derek and Aiselin boarded a luxurious carriage under the servants'guidance.

Their journey to Rocheste Manor proper had truly begun.

"I'm... rather frightened now..."

"I did warn this wouldn't be easy."

"Yes... I'll need to stay sharp..."

Aiselin's anxious expression gave way to determined resolve as she clenched her lips.

She desperately needed to secure more funds. With numerous dependents and her family's shaky standing, the delicate-looking noblewoman bore responsibilities disproportionate to her fragile frame - burdens she bore without complaint.

"Lady Sieren clearly isn't someone to be taken lightly."

"I expected as much, but we should still prepare specific approaches. She doesn't seem the type to listen to reason."

"I have three methods in mind."

Thinking it best to organize his plans before arriving, Derek explained:

"First, establishing human connection. Building rapport to smoothly conduct lessons."

"How ideal. I do hope that works..."

"Odds are slim. Then we proceed to method two - shouting, anger, or persuasion... attempting to sway Lady Sieren's heart."

"Still fundamental but reasonable. I'll... try my best... What if that fails?"

As Aiselin asked nervously, Derek clenched his fist.

"Then we employ method three."

"..."

"Historically proven effective."

"..."

Occasionally Aiselin reflected:

Derek's methods could be too crude for noble ladies. He charged forward like an iron battering ram.

Precisely why they worked. Greenhouse-raised noble girls didn't understand a fist's terror.

...Though normally one would fear noble retaliation, Derek operated beyond such concerns.

His clients typically required such extreme measures. The first beneficiary needed no searching - Diela herself.

"That might prove difficult,"interjected Head Butler Leighton from across the carriage.

Here they were, conspiring about how to handle his young mistress right before him.

Though Derek considered choosing his words more carefully, he shook his head - the truth was the truth.

"Why difficult?"

"You don't yet know Lady Sieren."

Leighton spoke softly with bowed head:

"The north is perilous - high-ranking magical beasts appear unpredictably. Thus people are rough, insular, and develop survival skills matching the harsh environment."

"Yes, I've heard as much."

"With no fertile land, surviving on hunting magical beasts or imperial subsidies breeds toughness. Lady Sieren embodies this northern spirit."

The description conjured images of wild, rugged strength.

In Derek's mind, Lady Sieren's image overlapped with muscle-bound mercenaries swigging rum - likely unfair to the actual person.

"What manner of person warrants such description?"

"She's Lord Melberot's only daughter. To put it plainly—"

As Leighton began elaborating—

- CRASH! BOOM!

Without warning, the carriage jolted violently from a massive impact.

- BANG! CRACK! SMASH!

It happened too fast for Aiselin to even scream. As the carriage tilted dangerously, its contents spilled sideways.

- CLANG! CRASH! BANG!

"KYAAAH! Wh-what's happening!"

"Hold tight! The carriage is unstable!"

- THUD!

Amid the chaos, white-furred limbs of a massive beast appeared outside the window.

A giant magical beast seemed to have attacked the carriage. Its full form remained unclear through the window, but one thing was certain - they needed to evacuate immediately.

"Lady Aiselin! Out now!"

"KYEEK!"

Derek kicked open the rear door and practically threw Aiselin out, then helped the servants escape before rolling clear himself.

- WHOOSH!

An icy blizzard raged between snowflakes. Surveying their attacker from the snowfield, Derek frowned.

Emerging outside revealed it wasn't a beast attack.

An enormous bear-like magical beast had indeed struck the carriage - but it was already dead, bleeding profusely from its neck.

Even at a distance, its lifelessness was obvious. How could a dead beast attack? The question hung unavoidably in the air.

"Wh-what in the...!"

"Are you alright?!"

Servants rushed to check on Derek and Aiselin. Though unharmed, Aiselin gasped for breath from shock.

Derek studied the beast's corpse in the freezing winds.

Had someone used necromancy to animate it? But taboos weren't so easily encountered.

The simpler explanation felt more likely - someone had thrown this massive beast at their carriage. The intent felt malicious.

'Who hurls dead magical beasts?'

The carriage, now half-buried in snow, seemed beyond repair. Two elegant white horses struggled to rise, their thrashing pitiful to behold.

'Beyond human strength - magic then?'

Closing his eyes, Derek activated Detection Magic:"Mana Sense."

If magic was recently used, his detection spell wouldn't miss it.

Hiding from a mage's detection required vastly superior skill. At Derek's 3-Star level, few could conceal themselves from his senses.

Indeed, Derek sensed mana traces from a treetop behind them.

Without hesitation, Derek manifested a magic arrow and fired at the suspicious presence.

- WHOOSH! THWACK!

No incantation, no telltale motions - an attack too fast to perceive, let alone dodge.

The figure in the tree leaped away with animalistic reflexes.

- CRACK! THUD!

The flipping figure proved unexpectedly slight - nearly as petite as Diela.

Landing gracefully in the snowfield beyond the carriage, her footfalls sounded surprisingly light.

"..."

Aiselin gaped at the landed figure.

Derek kept frowning.

Bluish hair fanned across the snow as elegant dress hems settled. Rising slowly from her crouch, the girl opened eyes like glittering ice crystals.

At first glance, she resembled an ice princess from fairy tales.

Until one noticed what she carried - a bloodied deer with twisted neck in one hand, a gore-covered wolf cub in the other.

The sight of this delicate girl clutching carcasses larger than herself was surreal.

Both hands dripped with beast blood. Crimson droplets stained beneath her left eye. Barefoot in the snow, her jade-like skin contrasted starkly with the bloodshed.

The metallic scent should have been overwhelming, yet she seemed oblivious. The massive beast's attack needed no further explanation.

"L-Lady Sieren!"

Head Maid Serina trembled as she bowed deeply. Other servants followed suit, shaking uncontrollably.

Derek eyed the prostrate servants sidelong.

Their trembling wasn't reverence - it was skin-crawling terror.

Watching the girl stand in the blizzard, she seemed less noble lady and more wild beast in a dress.

The only daughter inheriting the catastrophic magical talent of Lord Melberot - the greatest living 6-Star mage.

The madwoman even that mighty mage couldn't control, who treated human lives like pebbles on the road.

The lunatic slaughterer no northern brute could restrain.

Every descriptor pointed to one person - Sieren Aleina Rocheste.

Derek steadied his stance, brow furrowed.